


Dry

by buckytheplumsoldier



Series: ThorBruce Week 2018 [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, M/M, Oops, Self-Hatred, ThorBruce Week 2018, ThunderScience - Freeform, Touch, thorbruce, would you count this as self-harm???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 14:44:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15560055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckytheplumsoldier/pseuds/buckytheplumsoldier
Summary: Bruce Banner was as dirty as they came and no luxury shower would ever get rid of the scars embedded into his skin.tw; self-hatred





	Dry

**Author's Note:**

> Day 4 and we're past halfway :)
> 
> Just a fair warning, I honestly have no idea who hurt me but all I can say is that this came from a dark place in my mind. #brucebannerneedsahug2018

Typically, showers were soothing saunas, meant to ease ones body and rework the cogs and grooves of tense muscles and tendons, to set them right into a functional order without the need for another's hands digging into the tender skin. It was an escape route, a safe haven of sorts, for those who wanted to escape with their own thoughts and isolate themselves.

Bruce absolutely despised showers, especially when he had to take them alone. 

He felt claustrophobic, the Other Guy screaming in the back of his mind to break free, to run wild and leave the confinement of white tiled walls. He hated feeling hunched over, forced to deal with himself for a change for a good twenty minutes before he reached his breaking point and almost ripped the sliding door in half. His mind felt muddled together, the burning hot water boiling a pot of misconstrued scenarios that played only partly, flickering and fading like a broken projector. Just because it was broken didn't mean it was gone. He could still see it alright, images flashing by in one series of lights to the next. It was a picture show all around him and there he was, trapped, nude, and vulnerable, caught like a deer in headlights, by the figment of his own internal torment. 

He had no one to grasp onto, to latch close behind and use them to block all of those repressing images. No one to convince him it would be okay, to hold him close and let everything else around him dissipate. Bruce was on his own to slip and fall on the slippery ground and no one would be there to catch him otherwise. He truly felt alone, the only sound besides his constant need to scream being the droplets of water darting past him, falling down his body and streaming down the walls.

Bruce Banner was as dirty as they came and no luxury shower would ever get rid of the scars embedded into his skin. 

Unless Thor was with him. 

The god held something about him, some sort of uplifting energy that didn't exactly originate from electricity or anything of the such. It wasn't earthy, yet instead more natural, a genuine airiness around him. He never failed to lighten Bruce's mood just the slightest bit once he entered a room, beams of sun following him like a trail of breadcrumbs. He had the ideal figure any person imagined when it came to picturing a real god from a mythology textbook - chiseled shoulders, large muscles, abs for days, and the most beautiful calloused hands that doubled as heating pads. He radiated a pool of warmth from those hands, touching Bruce in places where he never thought heat would turn him into putty. 

Bruce could last a quick shower while nestled into Thor's large frame, purring as his slowly graying hair was thoroughly combed through with some women's shampoo that held the essence of lavender (Thor was not one to take hair products lightly). Bruce didn't mind it, the gentle scratches on his scalp and Thor's own vaguely musky scent reminding him of better times and better places, painting a whole new picture than if he were to be alone. 

That was why Bruce was hesitant to enter the shower, already undressed and simply standing before the glass doors, biding his time and hoping that by stalling, Thor would arrive sooner rather than later. He could see his reflection in the material, hair extremely greasy and dirt building up in various places, his body all timid and practically hunched over with fear. He wanted to scoff at himself, to pretend it was a joke, some exaggerated version of his current emotions, but when he turned around to stare at the mirror, he noted the same glistening shame. It wasn't an illusion, but instead a reality. 

Bruce slid his glasses off of his nose, folding them and placing them next to the sink where he purposely avoided locking eyes with his own reflection. He stood still for a second, hoping to hear the hinge of the door creak open down the hall and heavy footsteps echo from the hardwood. He waited to see Thor's head peak from around the doorway, looking into the open room and seeing Bruce, hurriedly wrapping the smaller man in his warm embrace, soothing words and gentle caresses helping to keep the plague at bay. 

There was nothing.

He hesitantly stepped into the stall, turning the glass faucet and hissing as cold water hit his chest, not bothering to bring the knob to the other side for heat. He stepped back into the corner, letting the water build up and pool at his feet, slowly drowning him in ice and chills to his bones. Bruce assumed the drain was clogged, the water not swirling into the metal vent and instead rising in its level. It seemed better that way.

Bruce backed up until his back made contact with the wall, flinching at the cool tiles on his stiff muscles. He slid down the wall until the end of his spine met water. He shut his eyes, droplets of water bouncing off of the main pool and splashing onto his face. He let it rise, getting lost in the sounds of pouring water and the sound of the Other Guy roaring and beating himself up in his mind. He curled up, knees bent and arms bringing them as close to his body as possible as he sat alone. 

Flash. Opponents dying at his hands.

His spine ached, screaming in protest at his curved posture and how it stretched in all the wrong places.

Flash. Buildings crumbling under his fists and feet.

His conscience was yelling obscene words, needing him to get the hell out of the stall, out of the water, out of his mind.

Flash. Pummeling and thrashing anyone who stood in his way. 

The water was now calf-high, yet he still held on.

Flash. Vague and fuzzy images he couldn't quite discern replaced the mediocre ones.

It was all routine, the images never surprising or fazing him, but instead making him cave deeper and deeper into what he believed he should become. 

Flash.

"Banner."

Bruce heard the sliding door open and the water being turned off, the silence almost deafening. There was a bit more rustling, something light dropping on the floor, and then Bruce was being lifted, arms raised and body leaving the water and stall behind.

Once his feet touched the ground, Bruce opened his eyes, finding a black cotton shirt in his face. A towel was draped around him, hands rubbing the fabric onto his frame, picking up any loose drops of water and proceeding to dry him up. Thankfully, his hair only seemed to be slightly damped, small droplets dripping from curls falling over his eyes, saving himself from having to deal with a frizzy and untameable mess. 

Bruce didn't realize he was crying, perhaps mistaking his trembling for just shivering from the cold, but his face was sticky and his were eyes blotchy and burning. He didn't want to look at Thor, instead turning his attention to his own clothes thrown carelessly on the floor. 

Thor continued drying him off, being gentle with the towel, patting him down softly all around his body. His back received a tender massage, the curves of Thor's fingers pressing down in a satisfying thrill to his aching muscles. Thor's hands and the towel travel southwards, drying Bruce's hips, brushing the towel along the dark course of hair and down the curve of his ass. All Bruce could manage to do was nestle into the warmth of Thor's chest, arms wrapped around the god's middle, and attempt to regain the heat he had lost. 

The towel was then placed around his neck, his body (or at least the top half) dried. Thor's hands glided around the now smooth skin, brushing past arms covered with damp hair, slim shoulders, and around Bruce's waist, pulling the two close against each other. Soft kisses were placed on the top of Bruce's head, subtle shocks here and there every time one was planted.

The lasting effect of the cool water slowly began to ebb away as Bruce was filled with warmth, a low fire radiating from Thor's whole being, small radiators hidden in his fingertips as they traveled all over the hills and valleys of Bruce's body. This, too, was routine, something that Bruce was used to and could settle into, knowing Thor would always be there to lull him back into a reasonable state of mind without ever making him feel stupid for whatever he'd done.

What's done was done and as Thor lifted Bruce up to take him back to their room, Bruce could only realize how lucky he was to have someone clean up after him and still love him as much as Thor did.


End file.
